14th September, 1925

Diary of Harold P Lloyd

I've neglected my diary somewhat over the last days – not much is happening around this town. The work on my family's estate is continuing as expected, though I'm afraid I have to spend some more days in this run down establishment. Not only is it loud, I also discovered bites which might be from bedbugs. The weather is still dreary, but this evening a particularly nasty fog followed a spell of very strong gusts which had caused an avalanche, effectively blocking the main road. Talk is that it will take a few days until the town is accessible again – after the fog clears, of course.

The reason though I picked up my diary again is not so much the weather, but a rather strange encounter I had tonight, or shall I say, happened in that very establishment I am staying at, which is the only hotel in this place.

It was shortly after 7 pm this night, at the height of the stormy weather, when two figures entered the hotel. To fully understand the impact of their sudden appearance one must know that hardly any visitors find their way to this remote and, dare I say, forsaken town. Not many of the locals were present, but they all stared at them after they had closed the door behind them, looking around, getting their bearings. It was a man and a woman. He, probably in his thirties, dressed in a dark brown suite and a light brown coat, dark hair and pale skin, might be a solicitor or book keeper. The one of them truly drawing attention to her though was the woman. She might be not much older than twenty, was fair skinned and of a dainty appearance, fine features with rather huge, bright eyes. Long, brown hair was wound around her head in two braids. But, although this alone made her stand out amongst the locals, it wasn't what drew everyone's eyes to her. She was dressed in a rather queer way, a bit like people on old renaissance paintings. She was wearing a sleeveless, black gown with a front made of expensive looking, black-silver brocade. The Neckline was of the same fabric and embellished with pearls and jewels – the same pearls and jewels could be seen again in one of her two necklaces. The other one was silver with a small, egg shaped pendant, not quite fitting in with the rest of her look. Underneath she was wearing a white shirt with wide sleeves, gathered at the wrists. She gave the impression of being of noble descent – yet later this evening I reconsidered my judgement after hearing the language she was using on occasion; a language filled with profanities. Words I am not going to repeat here. One thing I want to point out here: I am not sure about the relationship between them. I could not see rings on their fingers, and even though they seemed to know each other well, I would not say they are engaged, judging from the lag of respect for each other displayed through their conversations. I might be wrong on this account though.

If those words so far are not enough or not adequate enough to describe the queerness about them, let me write down the dialogue that followed. I will do my best to stay true to what was said, but I am writing this out of memory.

"Hello!" said the man with a wide smile and nodded at those present, then he walked up to the counter, followed by the woman. She had a strangely absent look about her, ignoring the people around here and staring into space. I wasn't sure if she was even listening to the following conversation until she fell in.

"Good evening," he said to the innkeeper, still smiling and enthusiasm in his voice. "I'm the Doctor. Tell me, what is this place?"

He spoke in a strong English accent and didn't bother to introduce his company.

"The Coachman," the innkeeper, Mr Greenwood, replied.

"Oh, great." He smiled and looked around, his hand on the counter, then turned back to facing the innkeeper, a hint of seriousness in his voice as he continued. "And this place, this town... Where would that be?"

"Bleakham." Mr Greenwood replied, his voice a mix of disbelieve and annoyance.

"Bleakham? Nice name, strangely fitting," the man replied, then furrowed his brows, looking at Mr Greenwood intently. "Bleakham, where exactly?"

"Bleakham, New England. What do you want sir? We've got a room, but you're too late for supper. You can have a drink. If that's not what you want, then there's nothing more for you here." Mr Greenwood looked at him with the same distrustful expression he and the locals were regarding me with. It didn't take much to stick out like a sore thumb being a foreigner here.

"Nah, we don't need a room, we have-"

At this moment the door flung open and a young lad came in, the butcher's son if I remember correctly. They all sort of look the same – the locals definitely preferred to keep amongst themselves for more than just one generation.

"Main road's blocked!" he announced.

"Shut the door," Mr Greenwood yelled. "You let the cold in. What's with the main road?"

"Avalanche," the boy said. "It's blocked by rocks. Will take some time to clear it up, Mr Gorham says."

"Which main road?" the woman finally spoke. "The one leading down the mountains?" She spoke a sort of British English as well, but with a foreign, slightly harsh accent.

"There's only one main road," Mr Greenwood grunted.

"And where is it blocked?"

"Shortly after the first bend, miss," the boy replied.

She swore in a way that made some of the patrons turn their heads and added, turning to the innkeeper, "Seems we need the room after all."

"But there's no Bleakham in New England," the man who had introduced him simply as Doctor, said, seemingly out of context.

"Well there obviously is," the woman said, pre-empting an angry comment from Mr Greenwood who had already opened his mouth.

"That's a dollar then per night," Mr Greenwood said with a look of utter dislike on his face.

"One dollar? Uh, certainly," the Doctor said and looked blankly at the woman.

"What?" she replied. "Do I look like I have money? Dollars of all things? I'd probably have a Galax somewhere in the T- somewhere, but certainly not right here in my non-existent pockets!" She tucked at the skirt of her dress. "I doubt he'll accept Galax anyway. But-" she added after a short break, pulling at her necklace. "Those are genuine pearls and stones, aren't they?"

"Sure they are," the man replied, slightly indignant. "Why wouldn't they?"

"Do you mind then?" she took off the necklace, fiddling with the fastener.

"Nah, I have enough of them."

She got off the fastener, removed one of the stones and hold it out to Mr Greenwood.

"How many nights will that give us?"

He took the stone and looked at it. I halfway expected him to bite into it, but thankfully he didn't. It was a blue one, probably a sapphire, in a silver setting.

"As much as you want if that's a real stone. I've to get it checked tomorrow. You can stay for tonight. If it's fake you have to work for your room. There's enough to do after the storm."

"Thanks," the woman, who's name, as I should find out later, was Mira, said. "You said something about drinks – is it possible to get a grog?"

"Grog?"

"Hot water and rum?"

"Uhm", the Doctor said, "Not sure about the exact year, but if we're in the USA, is alcohol not prohibited right now?"

Suddenly all eyes were on him.

"It reeks of alcohol in here," Mira replied dryly. "So if it's prohibition, it's certainly not taken very seriously."

"Don't have any rum," Mr Greenwood said. "Just whiskey."

"Fine with that," she replied.

"Could I have a tea please?" the Doctor asked. "No alcohol in it."

Mr Greenwood raised an eyebrow and slightly shook his head. "Whatever you want, sir."

They went to a table close to mine where I had an excellent view of their faces and could follow their conversation – not that I am prone to eavesdropping, but I have to admit, they did draw my attention.

They remained silent until Mr Greenwood brought their drinks.

"What's a Galax?" the Doctor asked her.

"Our currency."

"Thought you told me you use Solar?"

"Did I? Well, Galax is quite new, we changed to it after changing our calculation of time. Probably a century ago or so? Seems I'm not quite used to it yet." She shrugged, sniffed at her drink and swore again. "At least I'm in the fortunate position of not risking to go blind from that, even if it's pure methanol." She looked up at the Doctor. "So it's prohibition? Which year is it anyway? Early 1900s?"

"1920s," he said. "I can tell you more when we're outside again."

She looked around, caught eyes with me and, for a moment, we stared directly at each other. There was something in here eyes, something deep, strange, almost frightening. As if she was looking straight into my soul. I admit that I have always been sensitive to those things, but I think even the most insensitive person would feel deeply uncomfortable looking into those eyes; yet probably not understanding why.

"So, found anything yet?" the Doctor asked.

She took a sip and I grew a bit worried. I knew the sort of drinks being sold in here – she appeared to be of a fragile condition (a judgement I came to regret later on) and I hoped she wouldn't get unsightly drunk. It certainly would not improve her language.

"Not really," she replied. "Nothing as massive as in Henry's palace so far. I need to concentrate to pick up anything weaker, but not here. Later when we're alone."


Doctor

"First the Necronomicon, a book that shouldn't exist, and now we're in a town that shouldn't exist", he said, watching Mira inspecting the bed in their small room. "It's like one of Lovecraft's stories. Have you seen the people down there?" She was now lifting the thin mattress up.

"I know!" She looked at him shortly before continuing with whatever she was doing. "They look like their family tree's a circle. And I mean it, singular. One tree."

"What? That's not possible. That would mean their children are their grant parents. What are you doing?"

"Searching for bed bugs. And that's not what I meant. It's just a phrase for – well, marrying in their own family too much for their own good." She dropped the mattress with an expression of disgust on her face. "I'm not sleeping in there." She sat down on a wooden stool. "Maybe you have just never heard of Bleakham. Probably it's just really remote and-"

"There's no Bleakham in New England." Until now, that is, he thought. It could be a setup. Someone had placed the town and the people here. Humans. He was sure Mira would have told him if they weren't human or if something else was wrong with them. Or, maybe the disguise was so perfect to even fool her. But the final question remained: Why?

"I should have changed into normal clothing, I knew it. It would have taken only five minutes," Mira said, tugging at the lacing on the sides of the kirtle. "At least I left that heavy gown in the TARDIS."

"It looks nice," he said, looking at her. And he meant it. He didn't really miss the ritualistic, rather exaggerated clothing from Gallifrey, but he could appreciate some of the more formal clothing from Earth's history.

"Thanks," she said and smiled. "It's just not practical." She looked past him. "The window is totally blind as well."

"No, it's not," he replied after turning his head. "That's fog!" He got up and opened it. Despite it being dark, he could tell that the visibility due to the fog alone was close to zero. It seemed to flow into the room, bringing a smell of sea and decay with it. Of course it didn't actually fill the room – it was warmer in here, so the water couldn't condensate in the air as it did outside.

"That's the thickest fog I've ever seen on Earth," Mira said. "Close it, please." Her voice sounded strained, almost anxious.

"You're not getting superstitious again?" he asked, remembering the weird haunted house they had visited.

"What? No. It just smells. At least the storm is gone." She sighed, went over to the bed and sat down with her legs crossed, not after looking at it again in disgust. "Let's see if there's some - how would Lovecraft put it? - occult practices going on here." She closed here eyes, her face a picture of silent focus, only to open them again a few moments later and looking around in confusion, finally facing the door.

He opened his mouth to ask her if she had already found something, but she gestured him to be quiet whilst getting off the bed quietly. A couple of wide steps took her to the door which she pulled open. A young man had been standing on the other side, now almost falling into the room with Mira pulling his arm, flinging him around and then holding his arms to his back. The door slammed shut with a kick of her foot. "Look who's eavesdropping!"

Struggling in her arms was a young man with a slightly familiar face. But where had he seen him before? He wasn't from around here, of that he was certain. Or maybe he was just the black sheep of the village, not looking quite like the others. His features were normal, nothing of the weirdness in them which made the others look so much alike. Now they were distorted with pain as he struggled in Mira's grip.

"Mira, let go of him."

"What? Why? He's going to make a run for it!"

"But you're hurting him."

"I wouldn't if he stopped struggling."

"I'm not going to run away," the man panted. "Please... I heard you mentioning the Necronomicon. I-"

Mira finally let go of him and he, moving his shoulders in their sockets, hurried to moved away from her and further into the room.

"What's with the book?" She asked, still standing between the man and the door.

"I'm Harold P Lloyd," he said, regaining is composure and straightening his clothes. "And there is a copy of that book in my family's mansion. It is currently undergoing renovation, but the library is not affected by it."

"So let's go and get it!" he said and jumped up. "Come on!" He had to admit that he slightly regretted not having waited to ask the king if he could have a look at the book himself. Mira had been right, there had been no reason to hurry – apart from his curiosity. "What are you waiting for, Harold?" he asked the young man who made no effort to move.

"It's in the middle of the night," he replied. "And have you seen the fog? It is way too dangerous to go now. The path up the hill is not done yet, we might break our legs. Or get lost."

"Ah, never mind that fog," he said, now standing in front of Mira who was still blocking the door.

"He's right," she said, looking up at him. "I mean, look!" She nodded over to the window. "I doubt you could even see your hand in front of your eyes. So as long as you don't have infrared vision or something, we're lost. I mean, I'm lost anyway – it's dark and foggy. Let's at least wait for daylight."

"How far is it to your mansion?" he turned around to Harold. He didn't agree with wasting more time. That little bit of fog wouldn't stop him.

"A good three miles. What is so important about this book?"

He ignored him and turned to Mira again. She looked at him, one eyebrow raised. "I'm tired. We're going to wait for the morning."

"What!? You're not tired!" He knew fairly well how much – or less – sleep she needed. They stared at each other for a few moments. "What if he's going to make a run for it tonight?" he tried it one last time, using her own methods.

"He's not. Or are you, Harold?"

Harold made a few attempts to reply, seemingly crumbling under her intent stare. "I'm not," he finally replied. "You have my word. Besides, where could I go?"

"See?" she said with a smile, opened the door and prompted Harold to leave, who clearly didn't waste any time to get past her and out of the room.

"I want to see the book just as much as you want," she said quietly after closing the door again. "But the risk now is just too great. Never underestimate fog like that at night. Had I brought some of my stuff to do a decent, radar or ultrasound based near field navigation, I'd say go for it. Besides, we would just raise more suspicions if all three of us sneak off in the middle of the night now. "

"Fine", he said, finally giving in. She was right, at least with the fog. He didn't care too much about them being overly suspicious. What did that even mean in a weird town like this?


Mira

She managed to find a few hours of sleep, even though the Doctor had been right, she wasn't actually tired. But who knew when there would be another opportunity to get some sleep. A lesson she had learned the hard way rather early in her life. Sleep whilst you can. And yet, this time it had been a mistake. She was plagued by weird dreams. Dreams of Anne, hunting her through dark corridors filled with fog. It took her a bit to work out that she was actually inside a palace – and at every turn she took, she ran into Anne again, who's head looked like sewn back onto her body. An angry, red scar ran right across her throat and around her neck. Weirdly enough there where light switches, such an anachronistic thing, she thought – and she tried to switch on the lights, multiple times, but nothing happened. At some point it dawned on her, that light switches couldn't have worked back then, as they were indeed anachronistic, but not in the way she had originally thought. Not existing yet, and hardly in use anymore in her own time. She tried to lit candles instead. Even though they started to burn, it remained dark. Then, as Anne had cornered her, she turned into a dark, indescribable and nameless terror, bursting out of her gown, tentacles reaching for her, blocking out the world and engulfing not just her, but the whole universe in a cold, deadly embrace. She finally woke up. But the room was empty. Empty but for a dark shadow in one of the corners, tentacles reaching out for her again. Then, suddenly, she heard a voice.

"It's morning," the Doctor greeted her, an audible smile in his voice, as she opened her eyes, actually waking up this time. "Still a bit foggy, but never mind that."

"What's 'a bit'?" she asked and got up, scratching her ankle. Something had bitten her and it was itching awfully. "Dammit. Is that bedbugs or something else?"

The Doctor moved over from the window, looking at the group of bites on her ankle and said, "Fleas."

"Fleas!? Oh shit. We have to be careful not to bring them back into the TARDIS. Do they stay on clothes? On me? Like lice?" She jumped of the bed and padded and shook her clothes. "That's disgusting."

"Nah," the Doctor replied, "even if, the TARDIS will take care of it. There's protocols to prevent cross-contamination between time streams. You don't want to bring invasive species from one place to another. Seldom works out very well. Just like European rabbits in Australia. Though that was just from one place to another, not between time lines. As said, there's ways build into the TARDIS to prevent that."

"Glad to hear that." She looked over to the window. Indeed, the fog was slightly better – or maybe it just looked like it in daylight.

They went down to find Harold sitting on one of the table. They joined him and ordered some breakfast as well. She did feel a bit sorry for yesterday evening – but then again, it had been him eavesdropping. And there was no way of knowing that he would be so scared of her. She had carefully 'scanned' him, trying not to stare at him, but there was nothing psychic about him. Nothing that would explain why he was uncomfortable and scared like others fully aware of her being an empath. Maybe he just had good instincts. Or he had simply never met a woman able to overpower a man – not that overpowering him had been particularly difficult. He clearly wasn't used to manual labour, not to mention fighting.

After they had finished their breakfast of porridge and coffee they went on their way to Harold's mansion. Once outside she fully took in the view of Bleakham for the first time. The fog was still pretty thick, but one could see at least across the roads and a bit further. The houses looked old and almost abandoned – weren't it for lights and an occasional movement behind the windows. The streets and all the rest weren't in much better condition – only the main road they had come down yesterday evening was in slightly better condition. There were puddles everywhere, and an overwhelming, almost sickening smell of things decaying on a beach in summer, half covered in stale seawater, was lingering in the air. And yet, she couldn't hear any sea birds, nor waves or any other indication of being close to water. She couldn't quite say why, but it didn't feel like being close to the ocean. The whole place suddenly seemed surreal to her.

"Maybe you're right after all," she said quietly to the Doctor. "This place doesn't exist."

She turned her head and for a moment heir eyes met – he didn't reply but the look he gave her told her more than words could ever have. She knew he had the same feelings about this place.

"It's down there and then the path up the hills – you can't see it right now because of the fog, but the property is overlooking the town," Harold said and led the way.

They followed him, mostly quietly, which was weird, especially for the Doctor. He only asked a few questions about the book and the town, but Harold didn't know much about either. His family had originated from here, but not even his parents had been born here. The mansion had been passed down from his great-grandfather's uncle, or something like that – she had lost track in his family tree.

The rest of the way they walked in a silent, brooding mood. At times it was quite a steep path and, though those were only a few short sections of an otherwise acceptable road, she was glad they hadn't attempted it last night. There were car tracks in the soft, wet ground – or was it from a carriage? There were trails which could be from horses as well.

The Doctor gave her his coat as she shivered – despite them walking uphill she felt cold in her chemise and kirtle. Apart from that, the flea bites were itching nastily and her shoes were also not really made for walking longer distances.

Then, around a bend, the mansion suddenly appeared out of the fog. It hadn't been three miles though – hardly two. Not that Harold had lied to her, he probably was convinced it where at least three. Then again, he wasn't in very good shape. Rather thin and definitely not fit. It was a huge house and she couldn't tell when it had originally been built, even though Harold had mentioned something about it. It had clearly been expanded over the years. There was a central building, which seemed to be original, and then wings had been added to the left and right, and maybe to the back. One of the wings as well as parts of the central building were covered in scaffolding. There were no workers around just now, and the house looked empty. Maybe they started working later, or they were busy clearing the road. For a moment she wondered how many workers could be in that rather small town – or did they come from outside? But where were they staying?

The feeling of something not being quite right, something being slightly off came over her again. She remembered the chat she had had with the Doctor yesterday before she had fallen asleep. He shared the weird feeling of something being off. But he couldn't put his finger on it either. All seemed to be fine. The people, the town – and yet, not quite. Like a slight shift in reality. Not quite a dream, and not quite real. But then again, Harold seemed to be a real person. As real as the patrons at the hotel. As real as any other human she had ever met.

"Nice house," the Doctor commented.

"Yes," Harold replied. "Unfortunately the inside is much worse than the outside. It is a construction site. Apart from the Library."

She tried to focus on the Mansion, trying to find out if it was actually empty, but Harold's presence was confusing her. She tried it a bit harder, and there...

"So they're working inside today?" she asked.

"Why, no." Harold replied. "I'd be surprised if they made it today. Maybe some of them stayed overnight, but I doubt that. It's hard enough to have them come in every day and start to work."

"Well, someone seems to be inside," she said. And added, seeing a frown growing on Harold's face, "I think I saw someone in one of the windows. Maybe I'm wrong." The Doctor would understand her, that's all she needed to know right now. That is, if he is paying attention, she thought.

They went inside through the huge, old front door. Now she was certain.

"There's someone here," she said. "And I don't think it's construction workers."

She didn't care now what Harold was thinking of her.

"Well, then let's head to the library," the Doctor said. "No time to waste, eh?"

"Maybe we should find out who they are?" She said as they followed Harold – the Library was right next to a small reception room close to the entrance hall. But he didn't seem to care – almost as if following a script. He headed over to a book stand and then stopped abruptly. "It's-"

He got cut off.

"Hands where I can see them and then turn around! Slowly!" a loud voice sounded behind them.

They did as they were told. Three policemen, their hands on antique looking pistols in holsters on their belts, stood there. The one in the middle, probably their superior, said, "You're arrested. Come with me and don't try anything stupid."

"What!?" the Doctor said, his face a look of utter confusion.


Sorry for the long delay again - life happened.

NicoleR85, bored411, Diving in and unknown Guest: Thanks for leaving a review :-)